I have spent the past 8 months in a haze. A foggy version of myself either simply going through the motions or standing motionless. In the scattered and tattered moments of bliss I do have the pleasure of experiencing, I have either been removed from my current state by way of alcohol or sex or I have been performing.
This haze has made me "unrecognizable" to some. But, mostly it's just made me fade into the background of life.
It began by me trying to move on from the last relationship only to realize I had begun the process over and over again feeling unsatisfied with the tactic at hand each trial.
It spiraled by me trying to get over the "getting over" phase of the "end of the affair", as I now dub it.
It blinded me when karma left the building only to leave me with pesty reminders and audible drips that could only be remedied by professionals.
I am coming out of the dark as Ms. Estefan tried to sing to us. In this light I have made unbearable realizations about myself and other's. I have become bitter and jaded when I always remained the realist with a deep sense of hope buried inside. I have transformed from a trusting all-American boy to a cynical, plotting lil' bitch. All the while wishing and hoping for someone to take me seriously.
I am beginning to realize why you didn't call back. Or why you didn't enjoy my body. Or why after two dates, or one sleepless sleepover, or drunken bed tumbling, or nicotine kisses, or intoxicating promises that you will never find comfort in my soul as a home.
I am just a lonely boy on display inside this pet shop we call community. I can look so cute and cuddly and you will come inside and ask to hold me, and touch me, and tease me and play me. Then you will think hard for only two minutes about the responsibility I will become, the nuisance I could be, the dependence I am already demonstrating and you will drop me back into my shredded newspaper box having satisfied your urges only to leave me longing for more.
Why is this so much easier for you?
The pet shop boys sing What Have I...What Have I...What Have I Done to Deserve This.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Big Yellow Taxi
For the past couple of months or more, I envisioned some sweet dinner with only 6 to 8 of us at some circular table in a very secluded section of a dimly lit Hell's Kitchen Establishment. Every night, I would put my headphones on and drown in the "going away soundtrack" I created for us. While listening, I would envision the perfect toast. The toast would be precise, succinct, personal, sensitive, and touching enough to draw tears without sobs. I would draw on all the music we both loved. The songs you introduced me to. The songs I shoved down your throat and you eventually swallowed with sweet aftertaste. The prose and poetry from each song would fit together the way we once did. As if they were forming their own hit song together.
There would be lines like...
It's been a busy day with some heavy seas. But you've done your best. I know you've got a lot of strength left. Everything is temporary, But I can be someone to fall back on. Because, don't it always seem to go..."that you don't know what you got till it's gone." Paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
I miss you.
We miss you.
There are so many songs that speak of you, to us, with me.
There are words I never said. The toast never happened. The cake mix still sits in my barren cupboard. I wanted you to have one last piece of poke-and-pour before you moved on.
There would be lines like...
It's been a busy day with some heavy seas. But you've done your best. I know you've got a lot of strength left. Everything is temporary, But I can be someone to fall back on. Because, don't it always seem to go..."that you don't know what you got till it's gone." Paved paradise and put up a parking lot.
I miss you.
We miss you.
There are so many songs that speak of you, to us, with me.
There are words I never said. The toast never happened. The cake mix still sits in my barren cupboard. I wanted you to have one last piece of poke-and-pour before you moved on.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
DUE DATE
They sat across from each other. The artist and the republican.
She talked of the latest Patty Griffin CD. He talked of Hedge Funds and numbers. Words like facilitate and procure dashed out of him in short bursts like the sound of keys on a computer.
He was handsome though. Must have made time for the gym at 5:30 every morning. She was beautiful too. But, not in a gym kind of way. She was beautiful with ease and grace. Hair never had a comb through it but was still luxurious. Not much more than a gloss and a powder to touch up her already smooth and contoured complexion.
"How could their friends even begin to think this would work?" They both thought.
But, they also both thought it was time to broaden their horizons. Opposites attract, so went the old saying.
After a painful 53 minute dinner with wilted spinach, a fish and a meat entree, and small wine glasses cramped with Pinot Blanc, the conversation hugged the line and made a sharp turn toward talk of families and babies.
He was so focused on his career and accumulating his prized possessions. The car, the house, the property, the IRAs, the 401Ks. He needed to secure these things before bringing a child into the world. (This means, "I don't want a child to distract me from the miserable money-making life I am leading right now. I am just too selfish to focus on the life of anyone else.")
She was staring her thirties square in the face and realizing 10 years had gone by without true love or even a glimpse of life with another. She was tired of using the city as an excuse for the lack of love and affection in her world. She frequently had thoughts of Gerber, and burping, and the smell of a baby's skin. In her dreams she would be walking down a crowded street with everyone staring at her as she breast fed this enormous adult sized baby. She was the girl in her circle that oogled at passing strollers and could be found rubbing her un-pregnant tummy as if she were willing it to grow a baby without the proper ingredients.
"Do you enjoy your job?" she asked the Banana Republican.
"I enjoy the paycheck and the perks," He replied with one eyebrow raised as punctuation.
"So, what you mean is you don't really like your job at all, you just suffer gladly for the money?"
He stared at her with a perplexed look on his face. The first sign of some sort of thoughts running through his mind. After a pregnant pause, he said...
"I am not suffering through anything. I am prospering. I am building for my future."
"A future that doesn't involve anyone else but you? Who will ever see the back seat of your SUV? What good is owning a home on the island or a brownstone in the city if it stays empty for years on end? What you are building is a platform hardly large or strong enough for even yourself to stand alone on." She spoke these last few words as a slow fade or losing air. Similar to the last song softening after the DJ calls last call. She realized she had, yet again, said too much-gone too far.
"And a baby is my salvation?" He asked. Leaving another nine months for her to respond. Finally." I have my own ideas of the future don't assign me yours," and with a fast and furious scribble of the pen the tab was signed and the deed was done.
She walked all the 40 blocks home despite the winter winds, with her iPod repeating the soundtrack from Grey's Anatomy. She made a pit stop at Hot and Crusty Bagel Cafe for small cup of Hot Cocoa. She cried herself to sleep in a bed filled with coffee stains and strewn papers, while lifting her shirt up and pulling at the fat above her hip bones.
He hailed a taxi, messaged all his pig-headed male friends from his blackberry then arrived at his high raise only to stay awake for exactly 45 more minutes. The time it took for him to lay out his plans for tomorrow and sort through life's paper work.
She talked of the latest Patty Griffin CD. He talked of Hedge Funds and numbers. Words like facilitate and procure dashed out of him in short bursts like the sound of keys on a computer.
He was handsome though. Must have made time for the gym at 5:30 every morning. She was beautiful too. But, not in a gym kind of way. She was beautiful with ease and grace. Hair never had a comb through it but was still luxurious. Not much more than a gloss and a powder to touch up her already smooth and contoured complexion.
"How could their friends even begin to think this would work?" They both thought.
But, they also both thought it was time to broaden their horizons. Opposites attract, so went the old saying.
After a painful 53 minute dinner with wilted spinach, a fish and a meat entree, and small wine glasses cramped with Pinot Blanc, the conversation hugged the line and made a sharp turn toward talk of families and babies.
He was so focused on his career and accumulating his prized possessions. The car, the house, the property, the IRAs, the 401Ks. He needed to secure these things before bringing a child into the world. (This means, "I don't want a child to distract me from the miserable money-making life I am leading right now. I am just too selfish to focus on the life of anyone else.")
She was staring her thirties square in the face and realizing 10 years had gone by without true love or even a glimpse of life with another. She was tired of using the city as an excuse for the lack of love and affection in her world. She frequently had thoughts of Gerber, and burping, and the smell of a baby's skin. In her dreams she would be walking down a crowded street with everyone staring at her as she breast fed this enormous adult sized baby. She was the girl in her circle that oogled at passing strollers and could be found rubbing her un-pregnant tummy as if she were willing it to grow a baby without the proper ingredients.
"Do you enjoy your job?" she asked the Banana Republican.
"I enjoy the paycheck and the perks," He replied with one eyebrow raised as punctuation.
"So, what you mean is you don't really like your job at all, you just suffer gladly for the money?"
He stared at her with a perplexed look on his face. The first sign of some sort of thoughts running through his mind. After a pregnant pause, he said...
"I am not suffering through anything. I am prospering. I am building for my future."
"A future that doesn't involve anyone else but you? Who will ever see the back seat of your SUV? What good is owning a home on the island or a brownstone in the city if it stays empty for years on end? What you are building is a platform hardly large or strong enough for even yourself to stand alone on." She spoke these last few words as a slow fade or losing air. Similar to the last song softening after the DJ calls last call. She realized she had, yet again, said too much-gone too far.
"And a baby is my salvation?" He asked. Leaving another nine months for her to respond. Finally." I have my own ideas of the future don't assign me yours," and with a fast and furious scribble of the pen the tab was signed and the deed was done.
She walked all the 40 blocks home despite the winter winds, with her iPod repeating the soundtrack from Grey's Anatomy. She made a pit stop at Hot and Crusty Bagel Cafe for small cup of Hot Cocoa. She cried herself to sleep in a bed filled with coffee stains and strewn papers, while lifting her shirt up and pulling at the fat above her hip bones.
He hailed a taxi, messaged all his pig-headed male friends from his blackberry then arrived at his high raise only to stay awake for exactly 45 more minutes. The time it took for him to lay out his plans for tomorrow and sort through life's paper work.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Everything But The Girl
Everything here is telling me I should be fine.
But, I am missing you everytime.
I will be back with you. You will be back with me.
We will have much to read.
Is there anyone out there? Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.
Throw me a rope to hold me in place.
As I walk past your door where you don't live anymore.
Like the deserts miss the rain, my heart misses the release.
I will return to this writing and to this relationship and that relationship. It's time to stop Wallowing.
I miss you and I miss you.
But, I am missing you everytime.
I will be back with you. You will be back with me.
We will have much to read.
Is there anyone out there? Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.
Throw me a rope to hold me in place.
As I walk past your door where you don't live anymore.
Like the deserts miss the rain, my heart misses the release.
I will return to this writing and to this relationship and that relationship. It's time to stop Wallowing.
I miss you and I miss you.
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